


Smoking is bad, m’kay?

by melitta4ever



Series: Kinktober 2018 [5]
Category: Strike Back
Genre: Kinktober 2018, M/M, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 14:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16199627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melitta4ever/pseuds/melitta4ever
Summary: Michael hates Damien's nasty habit.For Kinktober 2018, Day 5: shotgunning.





	Smoking is bad, m’kay?

There was finally a light breeze bringing fresh air from the mountains, slowly replacing the sticky humidity that had become unbearable since before noon. It had been a trying day for them both: running around the city under the oppressive heat, saving unappreciative civilians, stopping nasty bombs... At least they got the bad guy this time, though Damien believed they could have done more for the poor girls in the prostitution ring.

He looked at his partner stretched out on the dingy hotel lounge next to Damien, his beer precariously balanced on his knee. Michael seemed tired too, gaze focused on the starless sky searching for who knew what.

Damien sat up, cranking up his back and feeling every single line gorged into his skin thanks to the barely there pillows between the plastic bars of the chaise and his back.  _ Damn _ ! He was getting too old for this shit if he started to complain about the pillow quality.  

He rolled one joint, lighting it up carefully and inhaling its exotic aroma.  _ Fuck _ ! It was worth the every penny Damien had paid. 

“Smoking again, mate?” Michael murmured lazily as if he was the one getting high. “It'll kill you, you know.” Damien didn't correct him that this time it wasn't cigarettes, he'd smell it soon enough.

“Like I'd be so lucky,” he answered instead. With a job like theirs, hospital bed death was actually a pipe dream. 

He filled his lungs again, holding his breath in. It hit him right away, strong and effective; filling his head with a fumy fanfare that cloaked all of his worries. He blew out the smoke slowly; creating fleeting milky rings that slowly dispersed into the night. “This is real good shit, buddy.”

Michael drained his beer and placed the empty bottle next to the others under his lounge. “I'm sure you say that for all the joints,” he mocked Damien, with that good boy smile of his that showed perfectly white, perfectly arrayed, perfectly perfect teeth.

Damien sucked another lung full; he was going a bit too fast maybe, but that heady euphoria was too good to resist. 

“I’m serious. This is awesome. I think I'm already stoned. Try it.” He extended the already burned to half joint to Michael. “Go on.”

“Nah!” Michael shook his head while picking yet another beer bottle from the ice bucket.

“Unless you're pregnant, buddy, this shit is too fucking good to pass,” Damien insisted; he could already feel himself floating, rocking side to side with the sweet evening breeze. This thing was magic. “Come'ere…” He dropped to his knees, not as gracefully as he had hoped, and moved next to Michael.

“What?”

Damien didn't answered; he sucked another hit then held Michael's head.

“Scott?” Michael asked with a demeaning smile, as if daring him to do something stupid.

Damien didn't mind, he lowered his head without breaking the eye contact. When his lips finally had a contact with Michael's, he exhaled the sirenic smoke into his mouth.

Michael coughed a little, obviously had not expected Damien to complete the action. He, then, licked his lips, the tip of his tongue shining under the moonlight. It hadn't occurred to Damien that he had actually licked Damien's saliva on his lips. Not until their eyes met. He felt himself stiffening inside his pants with that thought alone.

Damien dragged another hit, not breaking the eye contact with Michael. This time, he took his time when blowing in Michael’s mouth and he didn't raise his head more than a few inches when he was done. When Michael's tongue peeked out again, almost automatically like a nervous tic, Damien greeted it with his own. He delved into Michael's mouth; all he could think of was to drink his kisses.

“I ain't high enough to make out here like a teenager, Scott.” Michael said, turning his head away.

“Wanna get  _ high enough _ ?” asked Damien, trying really hard not to whine like a petulant child asking for a forbidden treat.

“Yeah…” Michael answered, “but I don't like that smell on my fingers.”

It was a green light if Damien had ever seen one. He took another drag of his blunt, and puffed it in Michael; sharing the smoke and a breath and an enchanted kiss.

“Fuck me!” Michael's kiss was probably more potent than the weed.

“Or we could move inside,” offered Michael, grinning. “You know, do it on a real bed like grown ups.”

 

The End  
  
  
  
  



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